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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28812807">the course of true love never did run smooth</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grazi/pseuds/Grazi'>Grazi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Edgar Allan Poe's Murder Mystery Dinner Party (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>"I know", "PEOPLE ARE DYING CHARLOTTE", (yes that's their ship name), Alternate Universe, But Nothing Too Bad, F/F, Lesbian Romance, Murder Ladies, Slow Burn, and by slow i mean SLOW, charlotte and agatha my beloved, feelings are being denied, i blame both me and my friend tbh, i try to write plot., oh yeah there's murder - Freeform, period drama murder ladies, rated teen and up just to be safe, really aside from the characters NOTHING is the same, someone give the ladies a break, the result of lots and lots of shitposts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 08:08:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,114</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28812807</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grazi/pseuds/Grazi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>London, 1886.<br/>Two women meet, and this is the start of something neither of them have expected would happen. But, in the end, neither of them truly mind. </p><p>(NOTE that this story is strictly based on Poe Party's characterizations of the authors, not the IRL ones.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Agatha Christie/Charlotte Bronte</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Meeting</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feelix_feels/gifts">Feelix_feels</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Or, the AU in which Agatha gets a characterization and both her and Charlotte are lady writers who are also lady murderers.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There weren't many things Charlotte Brontë liked as much as she liked balls. Or any kind of social event, really. It made her feel noticed, it made her feel <em>important. </em>Especially since she tended to arrive just after everyone - fashionably late. So yes, she liked balls.</p><p>But at that particular moment, in that particular ball, Charlotte wished she was anywhere else. If she had been alone, she would be mingling, perhaps dancing with someone, who knew? (People often asked her for a dance. Or two. Or three.) But no. She was vaguely listening to one of her suitors, secretly praying that he would just <em>stop talking. </em>As much as Ernest (the suitor in question) said he valued brevity, he couldn't sense when it was better to keep his mouth shut. And the worst part was, Charlotte wasn't even the only woman he made advances to! She often saw him doing the same to Annabel Lee and Louisa May Alcott, two of her acquaintances.</p><p>As if on cue, he asked :</p><p>"Do you know if Annabel or Louisa are going to come? I haven't seen them in a while..."</p><p>"They're both already here, actually."</p><p><em>And you'd know that if you bothered to pay attention to your surroundings instead of talking so much, </em>Charlotte completed inwardly. Usually she would have said it out loud, but she knew Ernest wouldn't listen. He never did.</p><p>"I mean, not that I'd rather be with them than you! And I say this because usually I'm not too keen on that kind of event - who likes balls anyway?- but I came because I knew you'd be here! And Annabel!"</p><p> </p><p>Charlotte emptied her glass of wine and put it back on the buffet table, ready to cut the conversation short, when she felt someone pulling her by the wrist and positively sweep her away. Before she could fully process what had happened, she found herself face to face with another woman. Her hair was as blond as Charlotte's was auburn, with two stray strands falling in delicate curls on each side of her face; and she was smiling half softly, half mischievously.</p><p>"So, it seems I saved you, didn't I? You looked awfully bored. Was that a suitor?" she asked, with a noticeable Devon accent.</p><p>"...Oh... well, yes. Ernest Hemingway. Thank you for pulling me out, though. God, he doesn't know when to keep quiet!"</p><p>"Ah, I get it. I'm Agatha, Agatha Christie, by the way. And you are...?"</p><p> </p><p>Charlotte hesitated. Could she really give her name like that? Nervously, she fiddled with the ring on her right hand - a ring that had, not too long ago, contained poison. Poison that she had given someone at that very same ball. What if Agatha actually knew about her? (Because it was not the first time Charlotte did something like that.) What if this was a ruse to catch her off-guard and... No, this was ridiculous.</p><p>"My name is Charlotte Brontë," she finally said.</p><p>Agatha's eyes widened slightly and her face lit up. The chandelier's light was reflected in her pale eyes, and Charlotte suddenly wondered why she even noticed that detail. Either way, she thought it was pretty.</p><p>"Oh! I know your name! And I could swear I've already seen you somewhere..."</p><p>"That's entirely possible, given that we're... well, we are colleagues, so to speak. I recognized your name as well! Two writers' paths meeting... Fate is amusing, is it not?"</p><p>"It is! And perhaps we're more alike than you think," Agatha said very seriously.</p><p>Charlotte's blood almost froze. <em>Did she know? </em>Again, the redhead quickly dismissed the idea. She probably meant something else.</p><p>"Perhaps... Do you also have an annoying suitor?" Charlotte jested.</p><p>Agatha laughed.</p><p>"I don't!"</p><p>"Not that I mind suitors of course, but this particular one is really irritating."</p><p>"Ah, it happens! But you don't deserve that."</p><p>Charlotte expected Agatha to say this in a joking manner, but again, she looked perfectly serious.</p><p>"Thank you I... suppose."</p><p>Outside, the clock struck eleven p.m., and Agatha jumped, apparently startled.</p><p>"I've got to go," she simply whispered.</p><p>And in a ruffle of green skirts, she was gone. Charlotte stayed here for a moment, not really knowing what to do. She heard the music and the conversations, but distantly. It seemed that she had taken a dive directly in her own mind, and she was lost deep, deep in her thoughts. All of them about Agatha - how she'd properly swooped in to 'rescue' her, her remark about them being more alike than she'd think, her eyes, her smile...</p><p>Wait. A short conversation wasn't supposed to have that much effect on her. Especially someone like Charlotte, who was infamously hard to please, and with a composure just as hard to shake.</p><p>What was <em>happening? </em></p><p>She snapped out of it when she noticed something on the floor. A pale blue embroidered handkerchief. A silk one, good quality (probably not as good as the ones made in Paris, but still excellent quality). What especially caught Charlotte's eye were the initials embroidered on it - <em>AC</em>. Like Agatha Christie. She picked up the handkerchief, for a reason she herself wasn't too sure of. At least it gave her an excuse to see Agatha again; she'd just have to return the handkerchief!</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>So the next day, when she found Agatha's address in London - which wasn't too hard, given that most people knew her -, she went to see her.</p><p>She rang the doorbell, and waited. She felt oddly nervous, too. It was just about returning a handkerchief!</p><p>But then she couldn't really deny that she also really wanted to see Agatha again, for some reason.</p><p>Then, the door opened.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Tea For Two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Where a conversation is had and stuff is discovered</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Then, the door opened. And there stood Agatha, still clad in green, though wearing a much simpler dress.</p><p>"Oh... Miss Brontë! What a pleasure! But what brings you here?"</p><p>"Your handkerchief. You left it behind you last night."</p><p>Charlotte couldn't help but notice her own heart beating slightly faster as she gave the handkerchief to Agatha and their fingers brushed briefly.</p><p>"Thank you! I was wondering where it was. Say, would you care for a spot of tea?"</p><p>"Well, why not?"</p><p>"Fantastic! You can get inside and settle in the living room while I prepare the tea, it's just down the corridor, on your left."</p><p>Charlotte obliged, and soon she was sitting in an armchair - a velvet-upholstered armchair! She started to take a look around. The room was simple, but tastefully decorated, and a wide window allowed the summer sun to pour in. Before the redhead could observe further, Agatha came back with two cups of tea.</p><p>"It's the best tea I have... Earl Grey!" she said cheerfully. "I hope that you won't mind the absence of biscuits - I'm all out!"</p><p>"No, it's fine," Charlotte replied, knowing very well that if it had been anyone else she would have pointedly complained about the lack of biscuits.</p><p> </p><p>Agatha handed her the cup, and sat down in the armchair across from Charlotte's.</p><p>"You know," she said, "it's very interesting that we were both at this ball last night, because I suspect we were there for the same reasons."</p><p>"<em>Excuse me?</em>"</p><p>Charlotte's tone had gotten just a touch colder. She was ready to deny any accusations made.</p><p>"We were both here to get rid of someone. Someone I won't name, because you know who it is. You got to him first, but we were both here for him."</p><p>"How dare you!" Charlotte spat.</p><p>The reasonable answer would have been to just admit, especially since Agatha was confessing to doing the same, but there was something in her that just refused. She disliked being seen through so easily, even by a beautiful wo- Nevermind. But to be figured out, just like this? It felt humiliating, frankly.</p><p>"It's no use denying it," Agatha declared. "We're the same, you know."</p><p>"What makes you say that?" Charlotte asked, trying desperately to save her remaining shreds of dignity.</p><p>"Well, let's see. I saw you playing with your ring, which could be an ordinary nervous gesture, but then I noticed that the pearl on it was too big for a regular ring pearl, so I thought it was probably hollow, too. And I, of course, took note of that night's disappearance. Therefore, it was easy to put two and two together, so to speak.</p><p>"...Oh."</p><p>"Yes. And I daresay I'm a good judge of character..."</p><p>"What do you mean?"</p><p>"You seem like the kind of person who would do that. For money."</p><p>"I- well, I suppose you're right."</p><p> </p><p>Agatha smiled and took a sip of tea.</p><p>"My dear, I'm always right. And after all, what kind of murder mystery author would I be if I didn't have at least some detective skills?"</p><p>"I just - I was quite taken aback by your way of seeing right through me like this."</p><p>There was something definitely surreal about talking of murder in a pretty Victorian living room - clearly not an ordinary situation. But then, you could probably argue that neither Agatha nor Charlotte were ordinary women.</p><p>"Ah, well, I understand. Granted, I don't always do that. But... you intrigued me."</p><p>"Did I? I don't think I'm all that intriguing. Interesting, yes, but intriguing? I don't hide that many things."</p><p>Alright, that was a blatant lie.</p><p>"On the contrary, Miss Brontë! No one really knows you, despite the impression of transparence you carefully craft."</p><p>"No one knows much about you either, Miss Christie."</p><p>"Touché. But you know, given what we both do, I think we can afford a few secrets."</p><p>"Speaking of which... why do you do it? I do it for money, but you...?"</p><p> </p><p>Agatha nodded pensively, her golden curls delicately bouncing in the process. (Why did Charlotte keep noticing those details?)</p><p>"Well, I do it for money too, I suppose, but not only. I also do it for... inspiration."</p><p> </p><p>Charlotte was about to answer, when she remembered that her sister Anne had said that she would come visit her.</p><p>There is always something really irritating about leaving someone you're having a comfortable conversation with, but after a few apologies and an offhanded hint from Agatha that they would see each other again, Charlotte walked out.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>When she arrived at her home, Anne was already there, in the living room, helping herself to tea.</p><p>"I thought you'd never come! Where were you?"</p><p>"Somewhere."</p><p>"Where?" Anne pressed again.</p><p>Charlotte expected that. Her sister had always been more insistent , and more enterprising. More stubborn, in a way.</p><p>"Well, that's not really your concern, is it?"</p><p>"Alright," Anne conceded. "But do tell me, I talked to your friend a little earlier. Mary Shelley."</p><p>"Oh?"</p><p>
  <em>She's more a "friend" than an actual friend.</em>
</p><p>"Yes, and she said one of her acquaintances - Lord Byron - had died. I suppose you've had a hand in this?"</p><p>"Maybe."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Bloodstained Blade</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Charlotte..."</p><p>"What? You're not going to tell me that <em>now </em>you care about the morality of my actions, Anne?"</p><p>"Well, I just think - "</p><p>Charlotte never got to know what her sister thought, because at that moment, the doorbell rang. Charlotte almost rushed to open, silently hoping that it was Agatha. But no, the one who had rang wasn't her. Instead, it was Jane Austen, hands clasped on her skirt in a very proper pose, smiling politely. After years of sort-of-begrudgingly knowing each other, neither of the Brontë sisters had gotten used to Austen's... well, general demeanour. Anne suppressed a groan of frustration, and her sister greeted Jane with a rather bland "Hello."</p><p>"Hello! I do hope I'm not disturbing you?"</p><p>"No, you're fine," Anne answered, in a tone that suggested the exact contrary.</p><p>"Would you mind letting me in, please?"</p><p>Without answering, Anne opened the door wider. A few minutes later, the two sisters and Jane were sitting on the couch.</p><p>"Well," the newcomer began, "I heard something that... I must say genuinely frightened me. You know the murders that have plagued London lately?"</p><p>Charlotte and Anne both nodded.</p><p>"Well, apparently... (Jane's voice dropped to a near-inaudible whisper)... Charlotte would be involved."</p><p>"Who told you that?"</p><p>Charlotte's voice was full of shock. But less over being accused, as one would have expected, than over the fact that Jane <em>knew.</em></p><p>"Miss Shelley. Miss Shelley told me she suspected you."</p><p> </p><p>There was a stunned silence.</p><p>"Miss Shelley?" Charlotte repeated. "<em>Why </em>would she do that?"</p><p>"I'm not sure," Jane confessed, looking genuinely sorry. "I just wanted to make sure there were just baseless rumours, that's all."</p><p>"Oh, sweetie," Charlotte said, her voice mellow but filled with underlying coldness. "You always believe whatever you're told, do you not? That isn't very clever of you. And why would I murder anyone?"</p><p>Jane shifted on the couch, clearly uncomfortable. Despite her trying to maintain a certain facade of assurance, she looked kind of a like a cornered animal. Eyes widened, stiff posture... everything in her radiated a vague fear.</p><p>"I've no idea," she spoke at last, too loudly. "But you have to answer! And - Miss Shelley told me that, well, Anne might also be complicit."</p><p>Charlotte's mind was racing. Jane clearly knew too much. And by extent, Mary as well. Indeed, Anne <em>had </em>been complicit, she had helped covering up some of the murders.</p><p>"Oh for God's <em>sake,</em>" the brunette muttered. "I'm many things, Jane, but a murderer isn't one of them. And that Mary Shelley has never liked me much."</p><p>"You needn't pay any mind to these accusations. Now, if you'll please leave..." Charlotte added.</p><p>Jane smiled as she rose from the couch and started walking away.</p><p>"Of course! Although..."</p><p>A flash of anger passed in Anne's eyes. She pursed her lips tightly, struggling to keep her composure.</p><p>"Although <em>what?</em>" she asked, her voice quivering.</p><p>"Well, I don't know that I should... trust you. I think I should still tell someone about it-"</p><p> </p><p>Then, the flash of a blade. And Jane dropped on the floor, unconscious. Dead, in fact. Anne had leapt from the couch and in one swift, clean motion, had stabbed Jane.</p><p>"Anne? What have you done?! And where did you get that knife from?!" Charlotte exclaimed.</p><p>"No lady should go unarmed, so I always have one on me," her sister answered, wiping off her bloodstained hands on her skirt.</p><p>"...But... why did you...?"</p><p>At this point, Charlotte was almost speechless. It was a convenient, but very much unexpected turn of events. And now they'd possibly have to justify Jane's disappearance. People would know she was here. This was, potentially, very bad.</p><p>"Well, she won't be a problem now, will she?"</p><p>"Anne, have you lost your <em>mind? </em>We'll have to make up a justification for all of this! And you spilled blood all over the floor! Look at that, it's a mess!"</p><p>"Calm down, Charlotte. I'll handle this. But she just - I couldn't let her do this!"</p><p>"You've acted on impulse! As always! God, what are we going to do now?"</p><p>What <em>were </em>they going to do, indeed? Charlotte sank in the couch, a heavy sigh escaping her lips. Why had it turned out like this? It was one thing to kill someone, but it was entirely another to have a freshly-stabbed body <em>right on your carpet!</em></p><p>"Well if I hadn't done anything about it, that idiot Austen would have told everyone."</p><p>"But now we have to hide the body! I don't have <em>anywhere </em>to do this!"</p><p>"You know who probably does, though?"</p><p>"No, who?"</p><p>"Well, remember Edgar?"</p><p>Charlotte did remember him indeed. They had met on a few occasions, and she had always found him very strange -especially since he apparently didn't leave his house much.</p><p>"...You mean...?"</p><p>"Yes. He probably does have somewhere to hide a body."</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Edgar</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This is a short chapter, but there's Lenore soooo....</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"You need to do <em>what?</em>"</p><p>Anne and Charlotte had went to see Edgar but, instead of him, they were greeted by a very unimpressed-looking ghost, who introduced herself as Lenore and asked them to say what they had to say. And now that she knew, she was staring at the two sisters in obvious disbelief.</p><p>"Well, we need somewhere to, well, hide a body," Charlotte repeated.</p><p>"Yeah, whatever, I had understood that part. What I still don't get is why you come here specifically? Like, does the house look like a morgue to you?"</p><p>There was an awkward silence.<br/>
"Yeah, no, okay, it does," Lenore said. "But like... wouldn't it have been easier to bury it in the backyard or something?"</p><p>"That's your first concern? Not <em>why </em>we need to hide a body?" Anne pointed out, raising an eyebrow.</p><p>"Believe me, that would be the least weird thing going on around the house. But-"</p><p>"I would prefer to speak to Edgar instead of an insolent ghost, if you don't mind," Charlotte cut her off coldly.</p><p>But it didn't have the intended effect. Instead of just nodding and taking them to Edgar, Lenore smirked. She tilted her head, looking at Charlotte curiously, like she was wondering something.</p><p>"I see... I'm getting threatened... Should I be, like, scared? I mean, what are you going to do? Stab me?"</p><p> </p><p>Charlotte and Anne exchanged a glance. The brunette seemed about to, indeed, stab Lenore. Silently, Charlotte pressed her to not do anything.</p><p>"Who tells you we won't, hm?" Anne said, defiant.<br/>
Lenore's smirk widened.</p><p>"I'm already dead."</p><p><em>Right. </em>Charlotte made a note to herself to remember that in case she threatened Lenore. After a few more negociations, the ghost finally accepted to take them to Edgar, with a lot of quiet muttering about being "surrounded by idiots" and "wasting [her] afterlife". She guided them in the dark corridors, her white wedding dress acting almost as a lantern.</p><p>Soon enough, they arrived in the study - Charlotte bit back a scathing insult about it and the fact that whoever had decorated it had less taste than Louisa May Alcott herself. Edgar was sitting at his desk, apparently very busy writing something.</p><p>"Hey," Lenore called. "Never thought it'd happen but people wanna talk to you."</p><p>Startled, Edgar raised his eyes from what he was working on.</p><p>"Lenore, I told you to let no one in!" he scolded.</p><p>"Yeah, well, they're here now. Apparently they need to hide a body or whatever."</p><p> </p><p>This seemed to pique Edgar's interest, and he looked intently at the two sisters as he put his quill down.</p><p>"Really? What makes you think I have a place to hide a body? (he paused for a moment) And more importantly, why don't <em>you </em>have one? Everyone should have a place to hide bodies. But I suppose I can loan out my attic... or my wine cellar. But the cellar's already kind of full, so..."</p><p>Lenore shut her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. For a split second, she seemed very, very tired.</p><p>"Edgar. You realize that what you're saying is like, super incriminating? Like, in general?"</p><p>"...Yes, I, I realize now. Anyway, I suppose you can use the attic, since I more or less know you."</p><p> </p><p>Charlotte stayed silent for a while. What are you supposed to say to that? <em>Thank you? </em>He also had accepted, just like that, to help hide a body. Yes, decidedly, Edgar Allan Poe was a strange, strange man. He'd always had a certain reputation, too. He was American, but had settled in London for what should have been a temporary stay, but had prolonged for months now. He also didn't go out much, which didn't help.</p><p>Finally, she managed to regain her countenance and said :</p><p>"Good. Well, I suppose we'll come by night. In the meantime, we will figure out something. It's lucky we live so close, too."</p><p>(<em>Pity it's not the case for Agatha, </em>Charlotte thought almost in spite of herself.)</p><p>"Yes, well, now I'd appreciate it if you could just - you know - leave. I'm working on something..."</p><p> </p><p>So they left. And that night, indeed, the matter was settled.</p><p> </p><p>A few days later, though, another matter arrived, in the form of a letter.</p><p> </p><p>A letter from Agatha.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Reception</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"<em>Dear Miss Brontë," </em>the letter read.</p><p>
  <em>Thank you so much for our conversation at my home. Can I hope to see you at the reception I am organizing tomorrow night? Even if you don't respond, I would be glad to see you there. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>In the hopes of seeing you again,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Agatha Christie"</em>
</p><p>Charlotte had to reread the letter a few times before really processing it. Her heart was fluttering at the prospect of seeing Agatha again. Their paths hadn't crossed all week, so she felt all excited. Except now, she was starting to suspect just why. She had felt that way before, for other people. And she knew how to inspire that feeling, too. Just before she then handed the victim a glass of poison, or unsheathed the blade of a dagger.</p><p> </p><p>So, yes. She suspected it was it. But she'd have to keep it in. Charlotte had always considered 'getting attached to people' as something superfluous, ridiculous even. So, falling in love and confess? Not even an option.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Then, the reception came.</p><p>Charlotte had to admit, Agatha was a fantastic host. She was an expert at small talk, and she laughed and joked as she refilled her guests' glasses or cups. Charlotte, for once, wasn't mingling. She was waiting. Waiting for the right moment to go see Agatha. Against her better judgment, she wanted to have another one-on-one conversation with her. About what? No idea. She just wanted to talk to her.</p><p>Then she felt a presence. She turned around, hopeful...</p><p>But it was not Agatha. It was Mary Shelley, her black dress contrasting with the pastel tones of the room.</p><p>"Oh... Hello, Mary."</p><p>"Hello. Can I talk to you for a second?"</p><p>Charlotte stared at her glass of wine, trying to think of an answer that wouldn't involve saying yes. But finally, she had to accept it, so she just sighed and nodded.</p><p>"Good," Mary said, her voice sharp and determined. "Someone killed Lord Byron, did you know?"</p><p>Shifting her focus from her glass to Mary, the redhead shook her head.</p><p>"Oh, I didn't know, I'm so sorry!"</p><p> </p><p>But Shelley didn't seem to be buying it. She'd always had piercing eyes, the kind that could stare right into your soul. And she was doing it right now. Looking at Charlotte very carefully, as if gauging something. Finally, she said :</p><p>"You're a terrible liar, Charlotte."</p><p>"What?"<br/>
The redhead's voice was low, barely above a murmur, but full of indignation.</p><p>"I'm no liar, Mary. You know me!"</p><p>"Precisely. I know you. Which is why I don't trust you. Besides, I've talked to Mister Poe yesterday. He mentioned a visit from a few days ago. He wouldn't tell me what it was about, though."</p><p>Charlotte smoothed the edges of her evening gown, trying to prevent her hands from trembling. Oh, so Mary was snooping around, now?</p><p>If she wanted to play this game, Charlotte was going to win.</p><p>"You look troubled, Charlotte. Anything wrong?"</p><p>Oh, that smug tone. Oh, that <em>smirk. </em>Everything in Mary Shelley exuded confidence, and Charlotte hated it. Who did she think she was, anyway?</p><p> </p><p>"Yes, anything wrong? You do look troubled,"</p><p>Agatha's voice. She had left the other guests for a moment and had come to check on the two women. And she looked genuinely a bit worried.</p><p>"Do I really look that troubled?" Charlotte asked, trying to make it sound like a jest.</p><p>"Well, your hands are trembling," Agatha observed.</p><p>Charlotte took a deep breath. </p><p>Alright. Time to calm down. Time to go back to her usual composed self.</p><p>"No, I'm fine. I'm fine, really, don't worry. I must say, Miss Christie, you are a great host."</p><p>"Ah, thank you so much! And thank you for coming!"</p><p>The night went on without incident.</p><p>Until, at some point, there <em>was an incident. </em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Lovely, Lovely Annabel Lee</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>AKA : the filler chapter before plot truly kicks in and y'all get some more PINING</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The "incident" in question happened later during the night. Oh, at first, it looked like a perfectly normal conversation with Annabel Lee. Oh, Charlotte didn't like her that much, but she had to put up the facade of the polite lady -even more so since she'd nearly lost her cool earlier-, and so when Annabel came for news, she had to make conversation. Agatha had to return to her guests, so Charlotte didn't have an opportunity to talk more with her, and Mary had decided to leave early. Instead, she was listening to Annabel, who was visibly very eager to get something off her chest.</p><p>"You know," Annabel said, "I recently heard of something... rather terrifying."</p><p>"Oh, my..." Charlotte whispered, too flatly.</p><p>Charlotte had tried to not show too much worry, but now she sounded plain uninterested. But the young Lady Lee didn't seem to notice it, because she responded, quickly and almost breathily :</p><p>"Yes... Did you know Miss Austen?"</p><p>"Miss Austen? Yes, she was my next door neighbour, more or less. I heard she died a few days ago...Awful story, really."</p><p>"I know, right... Oh, I'm so scared! I tried to ask Edgar if he knew anything, and I think he did, but he didn't tell me anything! Do you perhaps have more information?"</p><p>Charlotte laughed airily.</p><p>"Sweetie, why would I? She was my next door neighbour, yes, but I hardly knew her. I mean, she used to stop by the house to offer an invitation to some party or other... She seemed to think we were friends."</p><p> </p><p>Annabel briefly seemed taken aback. She looked at the floor for a little while and finally seemed to compose herself.</p><p>"...Oh. Alright."</p><p>"Are you alright?" Charlotte inquired in her best impression of a considerate tone. "You looked quite shocked for a while."</p><p>The young Lady Lee shook her head and smiled weakly.</p><p>"No, it's alright..." (she paused.) "...Well, actually, I did mean to ask you something."</p><p>"Go ahead, sweetie."</p><p>"I've heard rumors about you, concerning Miss Austen's death. Do you know Miss Margaret Mitchell?"</p><p>"Oh, that airheaded simpleton. Yes, I do," Charlotte answered with evident exasperation.</p><p>She did indeed know her. And oh, how she wished she didn't. As far as she was concerned, Margaret Mitchell was an irritating young lady who thought herself to be more important than she really was. The sole mention of her name was enough to make Charlotte roll her eyes in annoyance.</p><p>"She was an acquaintance of Miss Austen. I talked to her, and - I will be blunt. She thinks you might be responsible for her death. And I have to say, she makes some rather compelling arguments!"</p><p> </p><p>Charlotte almost dropped her glass. This was the second time this night that she found herself caught off guard. She silently vowed to not make it a habit. Thankfully, she was quickly able to regain her usual presence, and straightened up in a very ladylike way.</p><p>"Lady Lee, I appreciate you. But I do <em>not </em>tolerate you making such accusations!"</p><p>Graciously, she stretched a gloved hand -the one that wasn't holding the glass.</p><p>"I can assure you that my hands have never been stained with anyone's blood. And why would I kill Miss Austen?"</p><p>She expected Annabel to stutter a confused 'I don't know'. Unfortunately, this wasn't what happened. The young Lady Lee kept her countenance and answered :</p><p>"You're both writers. And it's a known fact that you didn't like each other!"</p><p>"Fine. I'll gladly admit, I wasn't fond of Miss Austen. But I didn't kill her! That's ridiculous!"</p><p> </p><p>This time, Annabel seemed less sure of herself.</p><p>"Well... People do say you tend to be..."</p><p>"Yes?"</p><p>"Well, you've had a lot of suitors, haven't you?"</p><p>"Yes, of course."</p><p>"Well none of them was ever really seen again..."</p><p>"Oh! Now that's perfectly ridiculous."</p><p>Artfully, Charlotte managed to change the topic entirely.</p><p>But when, two hours later, she left Agatha's home, she had to admit. She was starting to panic a bit. Too many people suspected something.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>THE CHAPTER OF THE PINING (...or like, even MORE pining)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>When Charlotte arrived at her home, she nearly collapsed on the couch, looking vacantly at the moon she could see by the window.</p><p>She felt so, so tired. <em>Three </em>people suspected her involvement in the murders, now. That was three people she'd have to get rid of. And, alright, that really wasn't new for her. But this was the first time the stakes were so high. She'd gotten accustomed to living a grand life, and she didn't particularly wish to spend the rest of her days in a prison cell. So she had to think.<br/>
She could just pay Mary a visit, an innocuous visit, and bring some of the wine she kept in her cellar... And that would be the end. Who would suspect the talented, clever Mary Shelley could have been murdered by a glass of poisoned wine?</p><p> </p><p>As for Annabel, well, the young Lady Lee did seem surprisingly brittle. An accident quickly happened.</p><p> </p><p>And Margaret... Well, she was an incorrigible gossip, and surely was the first she had to take care of. Mary would wait until she did anything, and Annabel was ridiculously nice - she wouldn't even say a word.</p><p> </p><p>So, Margaret it was. But, as Charlotte laid idly on the couch, she found that her thoughts soon drifted to Agatha. Again. They'd barely spoken at the party, and she regretted it. A lot. Charlotte just... wanted to know her better. Miss Christie was indeed rather mysterious, and if she thought about it, Charlotte didn't know much about her. And honestly, the writer in Charlotte was positively <em>quivering </em>with excitement. A pretty, mysterious lady that also happened to be a murderer... Now <em>that </em>sounded like a good premise for a book. A mysterious golden-haired lady, who no one suspected of being a murderer... A very charming lady...</p><p><em>Oh, dear. </em>Now she was just being ridiculous. Frustrated, she let out a loud sigh. Why couldn't things be <em>simple? </em>Falling in love just made everything complicated. Because, if she had to be perfectly honest, Charlotte... couldn't trust Agatha. Who was to say she wasn't going to just tell everything?</p><p> </p><p>No one was to say. God, now this was all just giving Charlotte a headache. Now <em>that </em>was the exact reason she avoided falling in love. But how could you not love those blue eyes, and those curls?</p><p> </p><p>...And on that note, Charlotte decided that it was high time she went to sleep. Maybe she'd have a clearer mind in the morning.</p><p>But she had no luck about that. Even after she left her evening gown for a simple nightgown and huddled herself under the silk sheets of her bed, she still couldn't find sleep. Instead she just stared at her ceiling, her mind still reeling.</p><p>She couldn't realistically tell Agatha how she felt. Charlotte knew herself - she'd never handled rejection well. And if the feelings <em>were </em>indeed returned, well... It would just make everything more complicated.</p><p>Finally, though, she managed to fall asleep.</p><p> </p><p>However, the next morning, just as she was making herself some tea, she heard the doorbell ring.</p><p>She groaned quietly - who was it, <em>now? </em>Anne, again? Mary?</p><p>It was neither. This time, finally, it was Agatha. Charlotte nearly dropped her cup.<br/>
"I-, well, hello, Miss Christie."</p><p>"Hello to you too, Miss Brontë! I hope you don't mind my impromptu visit."</p><p>"Oh! No, no, not at all! Please do come in, I just filled a teapot."</p><p>"That sounds fantastic! Especially since I had come to talk to you," Agatha replied merrily as she followed Charlotte to the living-room.</p><p>"Oh..."</p><p>"Yes! You see, I felt quite disappointed that we couldn't talk more last night. You seemed to troubled, and I was busy entertaining my guests..."</p><p>"No, no, I understand," Charlotte answered, handing a cup to Agatha.</p><p>They both sat on the couch, and there was a moment of hesitation, where neither of them really knew what to say. And... was it just Charlotte or were Agatha's cheeks just the slightest bit flushed?</p><p>Maybe...</p><p>The blonde lady laughed, somewhat awkwardly, and said :</p><p>"...You see, there is something I wanted to talk about..."</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. The Visit</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>the chapters have titles now!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Oh, really?" Charlotte said, and there was evident curiosity -eagerness, even- in her voice.<br/>
She leaned in, just a bit closer, dying to hear what Agatha had to say... and maybe just to feel closer, simple as that.</p><p>"Yes. It's - well. It's... quite a delicate subject, actually. It has to do with what happened last night."</p><p>"About the fact that all of <em>three </em>people suspect my involvement in the recent murders?"</p><p>"Yes, yes, precisely. Jane Austen isn't a problem anymore, thankfully, but Mary, Annabel and that irritating Miss Mitchell still might prove quite the issue."</p><p>Charlotte raised an eyebrow.</p><p>"Of course, but for me! You don't have to worry about them yourself, now do you?"</p><p>Agatha cleared her throat and carefully averted her gaze, stubbornly staring at the bottom of her still half-full cup of tea.</p><p>"I do, as it so happens. You see, Mary also suspects things about me. She has been doing a fair bit of digging on the both of us, I'm afraid. Ah, she's a clever woman, I'll give her that!"</p><p> </p><p>It took Charlotte all of her willpower to not just roll her eyes. Yes, Mary was clever, but not moreso than any other person she'd had the occasion to meet- in fact she was sure Shelley didn't hold a candle to Agatha. The latter must have noticed the annoyance flashing across Charlotte's face, because she smiled and said :</p><p>"You have to admit it. She's figured us out in barely any time!"</p><p>"Still..."</p><p>"You're a stubborn one, aren't you, Miss Brontë?"</p><p>She accompanied those words with a chuckle, and Charlotte felt almost dazed. It was the first time she really took the time to note that Agatha's laugh was... <em>charming. </em>Clear and crystalline, like a silver bell, or a fresh spring.</p><p>
  <em>Focus, Charlotte, focus! </em>
</p><p>Who knew love could make someone so... unfocused?</p><p>Finally, she managed to shift her attention back to what Agatha was actually saying, instead of quietly admiring her.</p><p>"Ah! Well, I don't like the word 'stubborn'. I prefer... determined," Charlotte smirked. "But please, do get to your point."</p><p>"I was thinking... If we both have to get rid of Mary... why not do it together?"</p><p>This time it was Charlotte's turn to laugh, incredulous.</p><p>"Together?"</p><p>"Yes! She might prove quite hard to kill, you know."</p><p>"Ah, yes! But I don't think she should be the first priority. Miss Mitchell is an incorrigible gossip, and if we don't want the rumours to spread, it might be good to take care of her first."</p><p>Agatha nodded.</p><p>"Of course, it makes sense. I'll help you for that as well!"</p><p>If she'd been less good at controlling her emotions, Charlotte would have stayed silent for a long while because <em>why would she help? She didn't have to! </em></p><p>Instead, she responded immediately, and maybe a little too briskly :</p><p>"No thanks."</p><p> </p><p>Agatha tilted her head, seeming more curious than hurt.</p><p>"Why? I was under the impression that you needed some help. You left the reception looking quite overwhelmed."</p><p>"I will have you know that I am never overwhelmed, Miss Christie. And besides, what is with people trying to make me lose my countenance, lately?"</p><p>Agatha laughed, again.</p><p>"I see how it is! Miss Brontë, you're not as iron-willed as you might like to think. For anyone with even some observation skills, you're actually quite an open book."</p><p>This time, Charlotte was actually dumbfounded. Not with embarrassment, but with an anger that was slowly building up. This was the second time now that Agatha had said something like that. And, coming from her, it hurt more than from anyone else. She stuck her nose up in the air, indignant :</p><p>"How- Honestly, you have the <em>nerve </em>to come into my house and then insult me?"</p><p>Annoyingly, Agatha didn't really seem bothered - as usual. She simply continued smiling nonchalantly.</p><p>"Come on, Miss Brontë, there's really no need to get angry."</p><p>"Oh, isn't there?" Charlotte shot back.</p><p>"No... Really. You're human, it's normal that you'd... you know. Feel things."</p><p>"You barely know me."</p><p>"It's true. But I can learn a lot about people from just watching them. Maybe I'll tell you about it, later. But first, planning."</p><p>Against her better judgment, Charlotte found herself calming down a little. She wanted to stay angry, but she just... couldn't. Not when Agatha was looking at her like <em>that. </em>Mischievously, but also like she actually cared.</p><p>"...But first, planning, I suppose."</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Margaret Mitchell</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>ah yes, just couple stuff... going out to murder people</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There was indeed much planning done that day, but especially much talking. It appeared that even though she was a secretive woman, Agatha was rather inclined to talking behind closed doors. And, as it also appeared, she was quite inventive as well. As she helped herself to more tea, she told Charlotte about some of the plots she wanted to use for possible new books, and the redhead simply found herself nodding. They were very good ideas. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Neither of them really saw time passing, and before they knew, Big Ben’s bells outside struck noon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh! So late already?” Agatha lamented. “Well, Miss Brontë, I’m afraid I will have to leave you - I’m awaited for lunch. But you know what we agreed on.. so I will see you tonight.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Indeed,” Charlotte responded, and she followed Agatha as she walked to the door. “Goodbye then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodbye!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, as Agatha was about to pass through the door, Charlotte called.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh! And, Miss Christie… As much as I do appreciate you, you would be wise not to imply I am weak-willed again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was said without aggressivity, but rather with a sort of faint coldness, like a freezing breeze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And on that send-off, Agatha left. And Charlotte stayed here for a brief moment, pondering. There was no one who could make her lose her calm quite like Mary and Agatha did. They had… something. Something that made their sharp wit and incredible speed to figure people out absolutely insufferable. You could have argued that Charlotte merely disliked Mary -even though she used to pretend the opposite, because someone like her might have been useful-, but Agatha… it just hurt more. Because Charlotte had fallen in love, like an idiot. Caught off guard. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After lunch, she found herself wandering back to the living room. To occupy her hands and her mind, she focused on arranging the roses in the pot on the mantelpiece. Red roses, her favourite flowers. These ones had been offered by some besotted young man who she had rejected, she remembered. His name she didn’t recall, but she did remember him being quite timid - frail, as well. How he even thought he had a chance was honestly beyond Charlotte. Nonetheless, the roses did make quite a nice ornament. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The day passed both too slowly and in a flash. Some visits, a quick spat with Anne, and many other little things filled it, but she was really simply trying to distract herself while waiting for the evening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, as the last lights of the sun disappeared, Agatha came back. And even though there was no reception they had to go to, she wore a fantastic evening gown. It was, so to speak, part of the plan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you ready?” Agatha breathed as they both stood in the entrance of Charlotte’s home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Readier than ever. Should we go over the details again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure. So… Miss Mitchell is in her country home, as we speak. We are going to go there… Is the carriage ready?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. We are going to go there, and pretend that we both got lost while going back from a reception. She distrusts you, but she might be more inclined to hospitality if I am with you. We are going to say that we didn’t get the opportunity to eat dinner. She’s a pretty hospitable woman from what I have heard, so she should invite us to share her food. This is when you will take the opportunity to poison her wine. And if that fails, I will simply and swifty get rid of her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, that is what we agreed upon. Shall we get to the carriage now?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So they did, and the carriage took off in the night. The horses were painfully slow, though, much to Charlotte’s frustration. But she said nothing, because it provided one advantage… Allowing her to talk with Agatha a little more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The moon is beautiful tonight,” the redhead remarked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is, isn’t it? I love clear nights.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So do I… It’s a great atmosphere for writing, don’t you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, absolutely! I admit, I have a fondness for writing at night. It just is the best moment!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charlotte chuckled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, I see we have that in common!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We do! By the way, I noticed the roses on your mantelpiece… They’re beautiful! Roses are my favourite flowers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re mine as well. These particular ones have been gifted to me by a former suitor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Former?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Agatha’s eyes briefly shone with curiosity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, haven’t you heard of my reputation?” Charlotte said, irony in her voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I must say I haven’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well… I have had a lot of suitors. And the word around London is that I killed them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Agatha’s lips quirked into a slight smile as she sat back, as if preparing to listen to a fascinating story.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So… did you? Kill them, that is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Some, yes. When they got too annoying. Ah, you do remember Ernest?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yes, the one I saved you from!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. Well, for some reason I ignore, he has stopped pursuing me, which I’m infinitely grateful for. But he narrowly escaped death. He was simply so </span>
  <em>
    <span>grating!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After some more small talk, the carriage finally pulled up, and the two women got out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Agatha knocked at the door of the house. A few seconds passed, and Margaret Mitchell opened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello,” Agatha said, sweetly. “We were heading back from a reception, and we unfortunately got lost, on account of it being dark. We’d be very thankful if you could let us spend the night there, and perhaps give us any leftovers you might have? We left very hastily and we didn’t get to eat anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Margaret stayed silent for a while. She looked at Charlotte, then Agatha, then Charlotte again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How come you really didn’t get to eat anything? Come on, I know it can’t be because you left that hastily.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I assure you,” Agatha reiterated. “We have nothing to gain from lying to you, Miss Mitchell.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Margaret sighed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” she said. “I’ll give you some food. But really, it’s not quite proper to come begging for food like two were some kind of poor women. Have some dignity!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The golden-haired lady laughed - quite bitterly, Charlotte noticed-. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I assure you, when you are hungry, dignity does not go first. And this isn’t us begging for food, this is us asking you a service, from lady to lady.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And she let them in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span></span><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
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